


Resistance (Is Futile)

by predictaslash



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: But so is Peter, M/M, Spoilers, Star Wars: The Force Awakens Spoilers, Stiles is a fanboy, Stormpilot forever, fluff?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-12
Updated: 2016-01-12
Packaged: 2018-05-13 08:38:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5702065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/predictaslash/pseuds/predictaslash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"What are you even wearing.”  To be clear, Stiles <i>knows</i> what he’s seeing, he just can’t <i>believe</i> it.  Han Solo’s handsome face and <i>Han Shot First</i> all on a shirt that Peter Hale, murderwolf extraordinaire, is wearing.  To a midnight premiere.  Of Star Wars:  The Force Awakens.</p><p>Peter looks down at his shirt and frowns.  “I know.  It’s not technically accurate because Han was actually the only person who shot at all.  But that’s a bit much to put on a shirt.”  At this point, Peter reaches over him to grab the Cherry Coke sitting in his armrest, takes a sip, and puts it back, arm brushing ever so slightly against Stiles’s chest as he draws it back.</p><p>Alternate Title:  Stiles and Peter Go To See a Star War.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Resistance (Is Futile)

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea what I just wrote, you guys, but I blame hours of reading stormpilot and filling out law school applications. This was supposed to be 500 words in a movie theatre, but I accidentally wrote more.
> 
> Also, let's pretend time moves like it's supposed to in this show--Stiles would be about 20/21 years old and in his sophomore year at college.
> 
> I CANNOT CONVEY ENOUGH THAT THERE ARE HUGE SPOILERS FOR STAR WARS: THE FORCE AWAKENS CONTAINED WITHIN.

“NO. Nope, nope, nope.” Stiles makes what he thinks is his most intimidating, stony face at Peter Hale as he gracefully drops into the seat beside him. “I have had it on the calendar for months that I am unavailable for pack business tonight. You can just get your furry ass up and march right on out of here. This is my night.” Stiles slouches back down in his seat and pointedly continues eating his popcorn. The team can absolutely get fucked if it thinks that anything is going to separate his ass from this seat once that beautiful scrolling introduction starts.

Peter stays seated. Stiles is not surprised. “Why, Stiles, this is _everyone’s_ night. Look at all of these optimistic fans who, despite the betrayal once felt at the hands of George Lucas, are here, at midnight, limited-edition popcorn buckets in hand.”

Peter leans forward in his seat, and Stiles knows better than to think that Peter’s going to just give up and go home. Indeed, the older man simply unzips his leather jacket revealing his GRAPHIC TEE.

“Holy shit, what are you even wearing.” To be clear, Stiles _knows_ what he’s seeing, he just can’t _believe_ it. Han Solo’s handsome face and _Han Shot First_ all on a shirt that Peter Hale, murderwolf extraordinaire, is wearing. To a midnight premiere. Of Star Wars: The Force Awakens.

Peter looks down at his shirt and frowns. “I know. It’s not technically accurate because Han was actually the only person who shot at all. But that’s a bit much to put on a shirt.” At this point, Peter reaches over him to grab the Cherry Coke sitting in his armrest, takes a sip, and puts it back, arm brushing ever so slightly against Stiles’s chest as he draws it back.

Stiles is pretty sure he has that dumbfounded, incredulous look on his face that he used to get in high school whenever Derek would threaten him with violence while Stiles was already helping him out with his fuckup of the week. “Peter,” he starts in his most serious tone possible (given that they are in a theatre full of people and he needs to keep it down, yet manage to sound stern), “I need you to answer me honestly: Are you here to murder me?”

“I find your lack of faith disturbing.” That is not sexy. Not at all. It’s just one of the best lines ever from one of the three best films ever made. In Peter Hale’s voice. In his ear. In a dim theatre. The before previews quiz game on the screen and theatre full of fellow nerds tampers the heat a bit.

Stiles watches with suspicion as Peter reaches into his jacket, likely for a weapon. Well, he takes that back; weapons aren’t really his style. Peter is usually planning and plotting and teeth and claws and passion, not knives or guns or poison. Peter offers an orange bag to Stiles. “Reese’s Pieces?” He barely has the words out of his mouth before Stiles grabs the bag and shoves a handful into his mouth.

“Okay, you can stay.” He talks as he happily munches on delicious candy and he hopes the saying it and spraying it thing he’s got going on might make Peter choose to leave anyway.

Peter seems like he’s going to say something else, but the trailers start up and Stiles takes great pleasure in shushing him.

 

 

The lights go down for the main show and Stiles has already been on an emotional roller coaster in the form of trailers. First, Zootopia had him giggling his ass off, then Civil War had him choking back tears and maintaining a steady MCU boner. All while sitting next to Peter Hale, who manages to look bored throughout everything. His life is confusing.

About halfway through a pretty fucking great movie, Stiles manages to tear his eyes away from the screen for a second to look over at Peter. It’s really hard to acknowledge that he actually seems to be enjoying himself as much as Stiles is. Like, he knows that Peter is a bonafide nerd--someone with computer skills like that, especially when you’ve come out of a coma after six years and manage to intuitively know how to use evolved technology? Yeah, nerd. But knowing and seeing are two different things, and when Peter is laughing or seems thrilled whenever there’s a callback to the original trilogy...Stiles can’t help but like the guy. Especially since his other so-called friends weren’t interested in seeing this, even if Stiles just wanted a movie buddy so he wouldn’t look like a loser who goes to the movies by himself.

Stiles still isn’t sure if he’ll forgive Lydia after she made him go see Fifty Shades of Grey on opening night, but wouldn’t come to a _good movie_ with him in return.

In a Star Wars movie, if there’s some shit going down on a bridge between a father and a son or a dude and his father-figure, someone’s gonna die. Stiles lets out a groan and sinks down in his seat as the scene progresses, knowing in his heart of hearts that he’s about to see one of his favorite characters of all time die. His instinct is to turn away, to pull his hoodie over his eyes and avoid the scene until it’s over. Stiles manages to keep his eyes open until the moment Han is pulled close and killed. His eyes avert as they tear up a bit, and he can’t help but notice that Peter’s claws are out and digging into the hard plastic of the armrest/cup holder between them.

It’s instinctive by now that Stiles should soothe werewolves on the verge of losing it, so he doesn’t really think much of reaching over to put his hand on top of Peter’s. This technique hasn’t always been the best--it’s almost gotten his arm ripped off for it before, but he’s never tried it on Peter. And it seems like the right thing to do in the moment.

Peter slowly turns to face Stiles and his eyes flash red in the dark of the theatre, but his claws retract. Then he gives a cocky little smile and laces their fingers together; Peter uses the moment to lean across the armrest and into Stiles’s space, body language definitely conveying to all around them that they are _together_ and that Peter is clutching at Stiles like a scared person clutches at their _significant other_ while watching a horror movie.

Only, Stiles feels like he’s _in_ a horror movie. He just got played into being kind to Peter Hale and now Peter Hale is oozing all over his personal space. And he can’t even care to make it stop because there’s a Star War happening on the screen and he needs to see it all.

He tries, okay? He tries to pull his hand away, but, you know...werewolf strength. Now that Peter has him, he doesn’t seem to be willing to let go. So Stiles just sits there and watches the rest of the movie with Peter’s hand twined with his own.

So what if he squeezes it when he’s worried about Finn and Rey in that final lightsaber duel? At least he finally gets to rip his hand away to clap with the rest of the audience when the credits start to roll, grinning like an idiot. Star Wars is Important and Wonderful and Magical and he can’t even be worried about Peter’s ulterior motives when he’s so amped up. He feels like he’s buzzing with energy when the lights come up, like he’s had too much coffee and his heart is beating to fast. Stiles can’t wait to go home and cruise tumblr.

But, Peter gets up when Stiles does. He follows Stiles out of the theatre and into the lobby, staring at him expectantly, hands in his pocket where they can’t possibly molest Stiles’s.

“Uh. Okay. Bye.”

“That’s it?”

“Yes? See ya next time something comes to town to try to eat us or whatever.” Stiles gives an awkward little wave, zips up his hoodie, and then starts towards the exit closest to where his Jeep is parked. He makes it all the way to his vehicle, as does his newest shadow. He whirls around, holding out his keys in what he hopes is a threatening manner. “What the fuck are you trying to pull here, Peter? You’re harshing my nerd buzz.”

“Is this how you end all of your dates?”

Stiles knows he looks stupid when he gapes and turns red, but he can’t help it.

“If so, I can see why you haven’t managed to secure a second date in quite a while.”

“...date?”

Peter rolls his eyes, then starts to speak to Stiles as if he’s an exceptionally stupid child. “You paid for my ticket.”

“No, I didn’t.”

Peter fishes a credit card out of his own (tight) jeans pocket and hands it over to Stiles, smirking (always smirking). “Yes. You did.”

“You are the worst.”

“You held my hand,” Peter continues.

“You were about to wolf out in a theatre packed full of people!”

“I have impeccable control. Why would I do that?”

“Because you’re a sneaky sneak and tricked me. Shouldn’t a date be explicit and not forced upon a boy who was ambushed in a theatre?”

Peter shrugs, which is what he does when he doesn’t have a witty rejoinder. “Why don’t we go back to my place and discuss this alleged non-date further over coffee?”

“Why are you all of a sudden shy about saying what you really want? You’ve never had a problem before.”

“Fine. Why don’t we go back to my place, talk about Star Wars, and fool around?”

He just makes this garbled, guttural noise because he doesn’t know how to answer that question. Stiles turns away and starts towards the driver’s side door. He doesn’t know how to look at Peter as he pauses before pulling at the handle. He doesn’t know how to say yes without actually saying it. “Ughhhhhh, are you coming or what? Wait, no, don’t answer that!” Because _I will be_ was totally about to be uttered in the most self-satisfied voice ever.

 

 

“So...Poe and Finn, amirite?”

“Shut. Up.” Peter growls at him, giving him a little shake as he continues to pin him to the wall. Stiles had gleefully chatted about Star Wars the whole way to Peter’s apartment (only in a slightly less sketchy part of town than Derek’s loft). Whatever the fuck this night had turned into...Stiles was embracing it, but was also still completely dedicated to ignoring the insanity of it by expressing all of the feels he has about The Force Awakens.

Now, it’s just become a game, a challenged issued to Peter to get Stiles’s undivided attention.

“Just, with the whole jacket...uh…thing.” Stiles parallels his words by running a hand along Peter’s shoulders, right over the soft calfskin leather. The shoulders fall out from under his hand as Peter gracefully drops to the floor. Stiles doesn’t exactly go quiet after that, but he sure as shit isn’t thinking about space boyfriends anymore.

 

 

“And, okay, let’s talk about droids, AI, and sentience.” Stiles has just been thoroughly fucked and these are his first post-coital words.

Peter grumbles against his chest. “If you were thinking about droids the whole time, you’re doing it wrong.” He hopes the boy will shut up.

“I think that would mean that _you_ are the one who is doing it wrong.” Claws come out and press into his side. Stiles is sure that if he breathes in too deeply, he will be dealing with a punctured lung to go along with his already-sore ass. Pleasantly achy.

He moves anyway, starts wriggling, and jostles Peter’s head all around as he reaches to the floor for his discarded jeans. Not so much as a scratch for his impertinence. “Noooo, what’re you possibly doinnngg....” Peter sounds like a normal, post-sex person who could possibly be drifting off and just wants to lay and bask in their sweaty nudity.

Stiles ignores the whiny werewolf on top of him and unlocks his phone, settling back into the ridiculously soft pillows, absentmindedly stroking the redonkulous muscles on Peter’s back. Peter cringes at the light from the screen and burrows his face in Stiles’s soft belly.

“OMG, there’s already a name for the ‘ship. Stormpilot.” Peter’s hand comes up to try to swat at Stiles’s, but he’s too fast and his arms are too long. He just holds the phone up higher and starts reading tumblr posts to Peter.

“You describing .gifs from the movie we just saw is the worst pillow talk I’ve ever heard.” Peter has apparently regained his strength; he pushes himself up and over Stiles, slapping the phone from his hands in a very not gentle way. Stiles takes a second to worry about his phone which is now across the room and in questionable condition. Just a second--Peter is looming over him, pinning him down. Stiles squirms, struggles in way he knows drives Peter crazy.

“I know for a fact that the last person you slept with tried to kill you.”

“And?”

“Are you saying that you’d rather I attempt to murder you than talk about Star Wars?”

“I’d rather you put your mouth to better use.” It comes out as a purr, which reminds Stiles--

“You are still the worst.” --of that fact.

 

 

When Stiles wakes up, it’s with great alarm because his alarm didn’t go off and he’s late for class. Peter grumbles and turns his head into the pillow when Stiles gets up and runs into the bathroom. Usually, he would skip the shower, but he’s gotten old enough so that not reeking of bodily fluids in public is important. So, he slows down just a bit, but if he hurries, he can get to his _next_ class. Maybe this was Peter’s plan all along: make Stiles late for class. As evil plans go, Stiles has seen worse, but he really expects more of Peter Hale.

When he comes out of the shower, Peter is no longer in bed. Stiles feels a frisson of suspicion go up his spine, but then shrugs and finds his clothes instead. He reaches for his discarded shirt, but immediately yanks his hand back when he realizes it’s damp with his own come. It causes him to flush all over as he remembers how exactly it got that way.

Stiles forces himself to grab a shirt out of Peter’s dresser instead--it is truly the absolute least the werewolf could do. The shirt he pulls out is impossibly soft, and when he puts it on, he briefly wonders if marrying a shirt will ever be legal. It even fits in the arms if Stiles flexes hard enough. He catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror, and the dark graphite color and v-neck look really fucking good on him. Is this why people buy clothing without graphics or hoods on them?

Huh.

A faint beep comes from across the room and pulls him out of his self-admiration. It’s his phone, giving out one last plea to be hooked up to a power cord before it shuts down completely. Stiles gets a glimpse of the time before the screen goes black and gets his ass back into gear.

“Hoodie, keys, car, school.” He says to himself, mapping out the next steps to take to get the fuck out and avoid the awkward morning after with Peter. Stiles knows better by now--Peter loves to make Stiles feel like a big, dumb, awkward idiot. _Of course_ Peter is casually drinking coffee in the small dining area, eating toast and perched in the perfect spot to watch Stiles fumble his way out the door. _Of course_ Peter looks fucking amazing in just his boxer briefs. _Of course_ Stiles has to bend over in his vicinity to pick up his hoodie.

“That’s my shirt.” Stiles snaps back up at Peter’s words, hastily pulling his hoodie over his head.

“Yep.” Stiles runs his hands over his face. “I’ll, uh, get it back to you later.” He starts to move away, but a hand catches at his sleeve. It doesn’t tug, it doesn’t command. It’s just asking him to turn back. He does, and he makes the mistake of making eye contact.

“Keep it. It suits you.” With the same lip bite and everything. This is so not fair.

Stiles drops his keys where he stands and lunges forward, “Okay, if we do this quick, I can make it to my evening class.” His lips collide with Peter’s and he knows he’s lying to himself if he thinks he’s going to make it anywhere today.


End file.
